Grillade

by johannespunkt

Anonymous desert. Night. The chest roasted slowly over the fire. It had to be hand-rotated, and that was Will’s job. The meat was still glowing, embers flying about it, and the ribs were starting to show. Every now and then, the doctor would cut off another slice of meat.

“This is a stupid vacation,” Abigail said, accepting the slice of meat and putting it on a plate.

“Now stop.”

Will stopped rotating. The chest pointed upwards and the doctor opened it up to the night sky, removing its contents carefully.

Is it really sick and disgusting the way I’m utterly enjoying the idea of Hannibal consuming David Tennant? I’m not sure why the idea of it is so appealing. If he doesn’t get eaten, I will be sorely, sorely disappointed.